Uncharted Hearts: From Casual to Forever

024~ THE

Catherine

I was more than a nameless model; I was a survivor sculpted by a challenging past. Emerging from the shadows of a poor home, my sole desire was to break free from the chains of my upbringing. In a household tainted by a drunken, abusive father and an absent mother, I harbored resentment, especially towards the woman who left me alone to face the storm.

My animosity towards my mom fueled a vow to make her existence as wretched as the childhood she condemned me to. Escaping the oppressive environment became my only choice, and the day I would confront my mother loomed as an opportunity to exact my revenge.

In my quest for emancipation, I stumbled upon an unexpected avenue – the world of modeling. Someone saw potential in me, whispering promises of a better life through this unconventional path. It became the first glimmer of hope after my tumultuous escape. With determination, I embraced the opportunity, throwing myself into a world that demanded more than just my physical presence.

Modeling, however, proved to be a tumultuous journey I hadn't anticipated. Struggling with the demands of a rigorous industry, I faced challenges beyond my imagination. Entering this realm, I committed to a profession that required a transformation, even resorting to diets, despite a lifetime of malnourishment.

For years, I remained nameless, grappling with meager deals and an inadequate salary. The path to success, I discovered, required more than talent – it demanded influential sponsors.

I stood there, brimming with confidence, ready to captivate the biggest influencer with my allure. Convinced of my beauty, I expected George Walker to be enthralled, but to my dismay, he didn't spare me a second glance. The man who held the key to transforming my life seemed oblivious to my presence.

Frustrated by the missed opportunity, I resorted to a different strategy – I decided to take matters into my own hands. Cunningly, I drugged him and seized the moment, sharing an intimate night with him. The following day, armed with this compromising situation, I confronted him with a veiled threat. Blackmail became my weapon of choice, and I warned him that if he didn't offer his support, I would expose our night together, accusing him of a heinous crime.

George, unfazed, dared me to go ahead. The gravity of his demeanor sent shivers down my spine. Fearful for my safety, I didn't want to test his ominous promise of making me vanish without a trace. Reluctantly, I continued my quest for a sponsor, resorting to various methods to secure the backing I desperately needed.

As the pieces of my precarious life fell into place, a sudden revelation added a new layer of complexity. I discovered I was pregnant, and panic set in. Uncertain of the father's identity, I underwent a test at the hospital, only to confirm my suspicions – it was George Walker according to the duration.

In the whirlwind of my tumultuous life, the unexpected burden of impending motherhood loomed over me. The idea of an abortion crossed my mind, but time slipped away, leaving me grappling with a life I hadn't planned on keeping. Frustration consumed me – why did this happen just when my hard work was starting to pay off?

Undeterred by my circumstances, I continued working, concealing my growing belly until it was nearly impossible to do so. I retreated into hiding, biding my time until the inevitable moment of giving birth arrived. The day came, and I delivered a boy – an unwelcome presence that seemed to personify the misery that clung to my existence.

The desire to dispose of him haunted me from the hospital bed, but a twisted idea formed in my mind. I reached out to George Walker, divulging the existence of his son. Initially angry, he demanded to know where the baby was, ready to take responsibility. Cunningly, I proposed a different arrangement – I insisted on caring for the child, subtly manipulating him into assisting me. He reluctantly agreed, under the condition that the child would be his when he turned fourteen. I concurred, scheming to exploit the situation for my own gain.

As the child grew, I paid him little attention. In my eyes, he was fortunate not to be born into a family marred by the chaos of a drunken father and an absent mother. His attempts to seek my attention, feigning sickness and other ploys, only fueled my annoyance. Unbeknownst to him, he became a pawn in my calculated game, a means to an end in my quest for personal advantage.

I relentlessly toiled, driven by the fact that George hadn't handed me success on a silver platter. His connections opened doors, but maintaining my position required countless sacrifices. Life had already dealt me a tough hand, and the last thing I needed was a child disrupting my hard-earned success. Who had been there for me when I climbed this arduous ladder? No one. I reached this point through sheer determination and hard work.

As my son, Lucas, blossomed into a beautiful boy akin to his mother, a pang of jealousy gnawed at me. He found joy in his interactions, sharing tales of friendship with his nanny. His newfound happiness, independent of my presence, fueled my anger. How could my son revel in something that didn't involve me? In response, I changed his school and replaced his nanny. I reveled in the satisfaction of him returning to a pitiful state, desperate for my attention. He was meant to love only me, and I intended to ensure it stayed that way.

In the whirlwind of modeling opportunities that kept me away for weeks, I entrusted Lucas to a new nanny. Little did I know, she harbored sinister intentions—poisoning his mind against me. Lucas's laughter, once pure and joyful, now seemed reserved for her. One day, I overheard him wishing she were his mother.

In a moment of blind rage, I acted without thinking, seizing her and forcefully colliding her head with the living room table. Lucas's scream pierced the air, his terror echoing my own chaos. Grabbing the bottle of wine, I unleashed a torrent of fury, smashing it against her head. She crumpled to the floor, her breathing labored as each blow landed. The cacophony of violence ceased, and she lay motionless.

Collapsing to the floor, a peculiar sense of relief washed over me. However, as I turned to Lucas, I was met with a chilling sight. He sat there, aghast and terrified, inching away from me. Despite the chaos, I reached out to him, attempting to bridge the gap between us. His eyes, filled with fear, saw a monster where I saw justice. I knew I wasn't the monster; she was, for attempting to snatch him away from me.

Lucas witnessed the gruesome scene, his innocence shattered. In a desperate attempt to comfort him, I pulled him into a sudden, unfamiliar hug. His warmth was a revelation, my good boy whom I refused to lose. Panic set in when the nanny remained motionless on the floor. I called George, confessing my desperate attempt to protect Lucas.

George arrived, taking Lucas to safety. I pleaded, tears streaming down my face, but he remained unmoved. Lucas, once my everything, didn't spare me a glance as he left. Heartbroken, the only person I had left was cruelly taken away, leaving me powerless and bereft. The next day, George accused me of being an irresponsible mother, revealing scars on Lucas's body that I hadn't known about. Custody was stripped away, and George forbade me from ever seeing my son again.

George's influence was formidable, yet my Lucas returned to me at the age of seventeen, growing into a fine young man. Eager to secure his future, I suggested he date Ruby, a girl I met during my modeling career. Although reluctant at first, Lucas agreed when assured he could still enjoy his youth. My plan was clear – find him a woman who wouldn't compete for his love.

In college, I noticed his closeness with a particular girl. When questioned, he insisted she was just a friend. I trusted him implicitly, believing no man and woman could truly be friends. However, suspicions lingered, and I enlisted Ruby to investigate. Her reassurance eased my worries, attributing the girl's persistence to unrequited feelings.

Still, my need to control every detail persisted, leading me to hire a spy. Lucas's activities revealed nothing alarming—just typical youthful exploits with friends. Despite my disdain for his closeness to his brothers, my influence couldn't reach them. Frustration brewed as I felt increasingly powerless.

Then came the revelation of Lucas's interactions with a girl at a party—lunches, bar visits, and a damning photo of them kissing. Anger surged within me; he couldn't possibly love her. Love, a concept I dismissed, held no merit. He should love only me, not some woman he found on the streets.

Yet, he dared to confess his love for another. The mere notion was ludicrous. Love existed only within the confines of my control, and Lucas was mine alone.

"I don't want you anywhere near Lucas again. If you send any more spies, I will ensure you end up locked in an asylum," George Walker threatened, a man who had once snatched my Lucas away, now attempting to sever our last ties.

"You have no right to stop me from seeing my son," I retorted defiantly.

"Lucas is better off without you. A woman who abused him throughout his childhood. Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Just because I didn't speak all this time while he was sneaking out to meet you doesn't mean I didn't know. Stay away from him, or else," he warned, turning to leave.

Refusing to let go, I held him back. "I didn't abuse him; I loved him and took good care of him. Stop trying to poison my son against me," I cried.

He pushed me away, and I fell to the floor, my head hitting the wall. "What love? He has so many scars on his body—scars you inflicted on him. Just because he lost his memory doesn't change that fact. I will have you under surveillance. If I see you near my son or anyone close to him, so help me God," he declared before walking away.

Left sitting on the floor, tears streaming down my face, I pondered how I could possibly endure life without my beloved Lucas.